Well named.
"New Mexico" -- that is, the land wrested from the Mexicans in the waning years of the 19th century -- has its own magic.
On cursory view, it's high chaparral, scrub pine. Ignored. Unnoticed.
That is good. I don't wish this clean, heretofore ignored stretch of land to be noticed. If noticed, it will be immediately recognized as desirable ... for the wrong reasons.
This is land that has been clean right up until now, in our let's-overpower-everything lives.
Clean.
When I was a young, partying 20-something in New Mexico, it didn't take long before I learned about the springs of Jemez.
You only wanted to .... well ....
just experience it. I know, words fail. But, well, all you wanted to do was just .... be.
There was something about lazing about in mineral-soaked pools, with big sky all around, and nothing to distract.
A snippet in time, perhaps. But also a knowing.
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